


The Prince and The Witch

by Miscellaneous_Ace



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Blood and Gore, Destiny, F/M, Fairies, Fate, High Fantasy, Love, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Revenge, Violence, Witch AU, gratification, royal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18742036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miscellaneous_Ace/pseuds/Miscellaneous_Ace
Summary: (See full summary by opening the fic cause it was Too Big for this lmao)Medieval Magic AU. Plagg and Tikki are fae, Mari is a full realised witch, Adrien is a repressed magic boy who's had a Tough Time en youth.PV-ish Felix is in it, as well as several OCs. Nathalie is his primary guardian if that entices you





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Two babies are born, three days apart, fate weaving their destinies together.  
> Two mothers look upon their child, the babes looking back in their likeness, unknowing of the consequences these two existences will bring, their souls entwined with magic and later destiny. An act of retribution thirty years in the making.  
> Two fathers wrap their family in their arms, with promises of protection. They both will fail, but their children will forgive them. It is what children do after all. They forgive, they laugh, they cry. They run to their fathers with expectations of love and safety. 
> 
> The path between them grows long and twisted as they age. The tapestry of fate weaves excitedly as their destiny approaches. The very land beneath their feet grows with life and possibility as the threads of fate tighten. 
> 
> Their homes buzz with anticipation upon their births. One in preparation for a newborn prince, the other excited for a young witch's existence in the magical sanctuary of her home.  
> One grows up an outcast, near-forgotten, because of nothing they could control. The other grows happy, but estranged, looked upon warily, and feared for their power.
> 
> Can their long-awaited meeting, beat the vengeance that has been built from thirty years of pain?
> 
> (Tried to add this, like, four times in a summary. I wouldn't let me! :( With 9 characters spare too!!)

Twas the night of the Summer Solstice, the new addition to the royal family had finally fallen asleep. He had only been born that morning and was already leaving his parents more tired than they’d ever been before. That was saying something since the King had stayed up many a late night in the past due to crises.

A mysterious figure swept into the royal chambers, a shadow materializing from the ground. She was dressed in dark purple garb, creating an ominous silhouette against the wall behind the newborn prince's crib. She moved forward, to greet him.

“Hello, little Prince,” She said with a malicious chuckle, “I do apologise, but you simply must pay for your father’s crimes, you see. Perhaps a death for every refusal will grant the acceptance.”

The baby gurgled in its sleep.

She smiled, “I knew you’d understand!”

Then she reached forward, her left hand grasping his throat, then squeezing hard. The baby choked and gurgled desperately for breath, his green eyes looking up at her in desperation.

Then, with a flash of green energy, the figure was flung across the room, sliding on the polished floor. She angrily arose, and approached the coughing infant, but seised when her eyes drew to his neck.

Among the quick bruising and red marks, was a distinct black symbol of destruction stained against the right side of his throat were her palm had been. The figure checked her palm quickly only to find her cursed mark gone. She almost squealed in joy.

She lifted the baby and cradled him softly, mending any damage she had done, “Oh you sweet, sweet precious thing! Why, I cannot kill you! You have still paid, dearly, but oh how well you did! Quiet now darling, shh, shh, it’s ok. It’s ok. Oh, you are a precious little morsel! To think! A prince! With an affinity to curses!”

As he stopped crying she lay him back into the crib. It would do her no use to kill him now, what if she were cursed again? No, she would let him live.

Unlike his mother. **She** had done the witch no favours.

 

* * *

 

The day had been long and warm, filled with births and deaths, and magic. As one of the two annual Solstices, the night buzzed with the remaining magic from the day and had allowed passage for the fae between realms.

Today had been a day which streamlined magic affiliated with warmth and light, and tonight was no different. It was a night filled with the marking of unsuspecting babes to become gateways to the Earthly realm by the tricky little fae. It had been an old tradition, dating back millennia. Far before Tikki and Plagg had risen as the leaders of the fae. The two halves of a whole, a counter to each other’s essence, magic, and soul. Counterparts to their very existence.

Tikki floated above the first town they had visited in the night, the first in their stops to find potential markers throughout the Witches’ Wood. Their search had been fruitful thus far, but they would need to move on soon enough, less they run out of time before the fairy gate closed at dawn.

She watched as her friend, what the Earthlies would call a ‘bee-type creature’, Pollen looking over the large house in the town center, and its occupancy, she sighed and entered.

Tikki giggled with the knowledge that Pollen always marked the infant occupants of the mansion with her magic. They were born and raised to be leaders, yet they seemed rather rotten at the core when you looked from their living quarters to the rest of the town. Earthlies certainly liked to pile wealth into their authority figures.

Tikki could almost hear the conversation Pollen was to have in thirty solstices from now with the spoilt brat she had, almost, an obligation to mark.

Just as she was beginning to humour the thought, she was tackled out of the air. She chirped in alarm, turning in someone’s grasp. She found her counterpart looking to her, furious and fearful.

“Plagg?” She asked softly, trying to calm him, “What is wrong?”

“She’s restrung the mark,” He growled.

Tikki gasped in alarm, drawing many fairies’ attention.

“What’s happened?” A young fae asked, one of her pink mouse-like ears twitching curiously.

Tikki pulled herself from Plagg’s grasp and regarded the tiny fairy, “An evil witch, who killed a fae during the Winter Solstice twenty-four Solstices in the making, has restrung Plagg’s mark of her,” She was met with horrified gasps and worry.

The young pink fae gasped, clinging to a young purple fae who reminded her of the previously mentioned fallen fae in his butterfly-reminiscent pattern, who frowned, “How do you know? And why does it matter? You can simply find her fifteen years from this night.”

“It is worrisome,” Plagg hissed, “Because the last Earthly to restring a mark was the grand Wizard Merlin.”

There was a collective noise of understanding now, followed by fearful weeping.

“Though he was of a true soul, and made a great many blessings on this realm, he also made a great many curses,” Plagg continued, “These curses have been used throughout the ages to deal great damage to this Earthly realm even beyond his time. If we have an evil witch with that kind of power in the world…”

“It will be devastating,” Tikki finished, “For the Earthly and Fae realms alike.”

The young pink fairy began to weep softly now while her counterpart looked on fearfully, but unmoving.

Their despair had drawn any remaining fairies to them, Pollen included. Tikki was pondering a solution as her precious and righteous friend began to make a fuss.

“Let us hunt her! This very night! We will destroy her and she will pose no threat, as she will be dead!”

“We cannot afford such measures,” Tikki noted, “We face a great many dangers in this realm without active markers, until the Winter Solstice at least. And we could not finish such a hunt in the night remaining and return to our realm safely. No, there is only one option.”

“What?” The fae asked collectively.

“I will mark a child,” The congregation gasped in surprise, Tikki continued, “In fifteen years the child and I shall hunt her ourselves, as I can track a huge magical source of restringing a mark when I am looking for it. Even if it takes all of that child's lifetime, I will find and destroy this threat.”

“Will this realm survive fifteen years with such power on a rampage? Will your mark?!” The purple fae asked desperately.

“They will have to.” Tikki replied, before dashing down.

Each fairy flew to their respective markers, ready to remove their magic in case Tikki needed their marker for her plan.

She flew past babies of various dispositions. She could see the colours of their souls and prayed that at least one child was compatible with her magic.

She passed a yellow, Pollen. Green, Wayzz. Blue, Duusuu. Purple, Nooroo- the fallen fae.

She was excited for a moment at finding a pink soul, only to muffle her scream of frustration in her paws when she realised it was such a light pink that the only compatibility it would have would be with Angell or Muuse, dove-like and mouse-like fairies respectively.

She was about to give up, when she saw Plagg looking into a window. She frowned and approached him.

“What is it?”

He smiled, not even looking away, before phasing through the glass into the room. Tikki followed with a soft frown.

She found herself in a little room with two sleeping adults next to a newborn baby. Plagg had approached the babe, before smiling down at its form which was hidden from Tikki’s sight presently.

When she approached she saw bright blue eyes looking up at her and her counterpart. Plagg floated forward and she reached out, grasping him tightly around the middle.

Tikki gasped in alarm, about to tear him free, when she noticed Plagg’s kind smile as he watched her. Then dark pink -no, **red**!- Red magic flowed through her arm and into Plagg. She gurgled and Plagg smiled.

“Happiness,” He said to the baby, before looking up to Tikki, “She’s tried to charm me to be happy.”

Tikki was staring gobsmacked, before looking to the baby’s soul. Sure enough, a red soul sparkling with magic strong and pure.

“She’s perfect,” Tikki whispered, before moving into the crib.

The baby reached out to grasp Tikki with her right hand, still holding Plagg tightly. So, Tikki allowed herself to be grasped. She felt the same wave of magic Plagg must have felt, as the baby gurgled. Sure enough, she had tried to charm her with happiness.

Tikki pressed her paw to the baby’s inner arm, just a ways past her wrist, before entwining her magic and essence with the baby’s soul and body. The magic imprinted against the baby’s inner arm in the shape of a rising wreath of swirling magic that ebbed and glowed for a moment, before settling into an inactive state. It would remain as such for fifteen years, thirty solstices to come.

The baby let go of both of the fairies with a giddy giggle, before trying to bash its arms together, as though investigating the change to its form but without the cognitive response to touch the mark softly. Tikki giggled, and floated over to the baby’s face and kissed her forehead with a soft murmur of _sleep_.

So, she did. She rolled over tiredly and drew in a soft breath before she was sleeping soundly.

“Excellent choice,” Plagg noted smugly.

Tikki smiled brightly and tackled him into a grateful hug, “Shut up.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children meet their fae. 
> 
> Plagg needs to make a new plan, and contact Tikki somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know others can update really fast, but this is probably the fastest I've written a chapter. Like, ever.  
> Not the fastest I've uploaded, for sure, but still!  
> So proud of myself!
> 
> Anyway, lots of lore here, I'm sorry I needed to do that to them, but I'll be able to do more character stuff next time!  
> (Also, this chapter is INSANELY long!! Like, 4000something words!! Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous I tell you! But that's the price of some rich world building).

Marinette groaned as light poured into her window and onto her form; unwelcomed in its splendor.

She rolled over stubbornly, pressing her face firmly into her pillow to try and block the light entirely. She lay like that for approximately 30 seconds before groaning again.

“Bloody sunlight, won’t give me a break.” She growled, throwing her pillow into the window with a satisfying thump. She smiled tiredly in triumph, having thwarted the sun, until the pillow slid down to the ground at least. Satisfied still, she climbed out of bed and walked to her closet.

She pulled out dress after dress sighing in annoyance, none of them seemed to really… feel right today. Maybe the green one that guarded against sunburn would do? No. The blue one that created an air of freshness? No.

Finally, she settled on the dress she had finished not the week before. Luculia Flowers were embroidered up the right side of the dress. The brown skirt flared nicely from her waist, enough to flatter her figure but not enough to be a hindrance. The bodice of the dress was pink with a cotton fabric that reached up into a modest collared neckline, with a white satin ribbon that had been salvaged from a piece of scrap from a paid work she had done three months before. The whole thing was sewn through with love and a general charm of motivation.

Once dressed, she raced downstairs and pulled a well-worn apron from a hook carefully. She tossed it on and tied it about her waist neatly. She passed her mother, beginning the long process of cooking a slow roast for dinner, before racing down another flight of stairs and into the bakery below.

Her father was standing behind the counter, waiting for another batch of loaves to finish baking. He was tending a customer who was having a hard time deciding whether she preferred the plain loaf to the cinnamon one. Marinette smiled and walked into the kitchen to find a tray of cooling pastries waiting for her.

She waved her hand above them, determining they were cool enough to begin decorating without the icing and other decorations melting, but still warm enough to set a kindling in someone’s chest as they ate them. Marinette smiled at that thought and began to pipe icing onto the pastries, sealing the warmth in a way that wasn’t technically possible but always happened when she completed a charm.

That was her power, charms. In reference, her parents enjoyed calling her the most charming girl in Paris. Of course, it had been quite the shock when their mischievous little toddler had first shown her prowess by charming her toys and crib to float in the dark hours of the morning.

They’d come quite a way since that time. Fifteen years of living with an oddity would do that. Her parents had been determinately loving and supportive and had let her charm near all of their garments, food, and general possessions.

Her father’s apron, for example, was fire resistant, and her mother’s perfume brought a wave of patience with a deep breath. Then of course nearly all of their pastries and baked goods were charmed with her famous warmth charm, which sealed the heat of a pastry at the temperature it was when the spell was cast.

It was harder with the loaves, she would have to say _warmth_ with every loaf to achieve the same effect, instead of simply thinking -no- feeling her intentions with the object. Sealing a charm within an existing object was always a lot harder than entwining her magic within its creation, or in the addition of details.

This was how she charmed many existing dresses in her youth, through embroidery. Though she was still partial to the act, it wasn't a required addition to her clothing now, as she assembled and created all of her garments herself, but instead was an aesthetic choice.

Now, stood in front of the tray of pastries waiting in preparation, she gripped the pipe of icing with a gentle hand as she felt the tingling sensation of magic run through her arm. It felt like a liquid sort-of fire ran through her very veins and sprayed into the icing within the icing pipe, and thus through to the pastry as she piped it out.

 _Perhaps,_ she thought, _Perhaps I am the only witch to be born of Paris for generations, and nobody knows quite what to do with me... but at least I can do this!_ She smiled excitedly as she sped up her work.

She was rather productive for a moment, and then her eyes drifted to the grey symbol of a wreath or swirling… substance peeking out from under her sleeve that had been riding up. _My mark is quite the mystery,_ she noted before a far worse thought struck her, _Maybe it **is** from the Grand Noir himself… _

A startled noise came from her, between a sob and a cry of protest. The noise itself startled her so much she gripped her icing pipe, sending icing spraying in a stream onto the table, chair, and wall to her left.

She placed the piping down with shaky hands as the shock of the thought hit her fully. She slumped into a chair, hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the weeping that followed. _Grand Noir, Grand Noir, Grand Noir,_ played in her head.

It about then that her father came barreling in, rolling pin in hand. He took one look at her though and placed it on the table to engulf his daughter into his arms in a secure embrace, “Do you want to do some knitting upstairs, _ma petite_?”

“Yes, please,” She replied shakily, her voice cracking in the middle.

He nodded and lifted her to her feet, squeezing her one last time before waving her off, “I’ll clean up, you head on up.”

She nodded, still shaking as she raced upstairs, ripping off her apron and hanging it up again. She passed her mother who watched her go, a little shell shocked by Marinette’s speed and tear stained face.

She tugged her knitting out and sat in her dresser chair, knitting quickly to try and ease her nerves and hands into an easy rhythm. Slowly, she calmed, her thoughts occupied by the action of her hands rather than the thoughts in her head.

Eventually, she deemed herself calm enough to dwell on the thought. It was never helpful to let it fester.

Why she had been struck by it was no mystery. Tonight was to be the Night Of Wishes, where every fae that marked a child fifteen years ago would activate their mark at dusk and would provide their child a wish in return for knowledge of the time and stories. If she had been cursed by the Grand Noir, as Chloe had insisted since they were young, then he would arrive at the rise of night.

She doubted the Grand Noir would be her fairy, he was far too busy with truly evil people. It just… didn’t make sense. Not when you looked at the situation reasonably.

Yet, it never stopped the shock that struck her with the thought, like a javelin through her heart. It had always shocked her, but the prospect of the cruel idea coming to pass this very dusk had left her in tears. Though now that she thought about it, perhaps it wasn’t the idea of a murderous evil fairy being her only wish in her entire life, but rather the act of Chloe being right about Marinette’s mark thus her very nature. _Evil finds Evil_.

Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

At any rate, she would rather never know who her fairy was than to be marked by evil incarnate, doomed to death at the meager age of fifteen.

 _No,_ came a thought, a need from her very soul, _I refuse to die tonight._

So, she sealed the deal with herself, before tossing her knitting away to retrieve some measures. Soon she found herself sitting on her bed, embroidery, knitting and her sketchbook not too far away, as her room was scattered with traps. Sharp objects strung up around her room, all charmed to strike a disturbance.

So, she spent the day like that. Sitting safely in her tomb of weaponry, waiting for a fairy.

 

She was so busy knitting, her forearm turned away, that she didn’t notice when it began to glow. At first, it was a dull pink, but by the time the sun was on the horizon opposite her window, it was bright red.

No, she didn’t notice until a tiny ball of red floated into her line of sight, resting on her knitting. She laughed, and continued knitting, thinking it was a trick of the light.

It was twisted and knotted into the stitches, growing larger and larger as the hour drew to a close. Then, as the sunlight finally disappeared, a little creature replaced the light.

Marinette squeaked in alarm, tossing the knit to the other end of her bed, and scrambling away. The creature tried to free herself, before gasping in alarm and phasing out of her knitted trap and looked over it quickly to make sure she didn’t damage it.

“Oh good,” She whispered, “I didn’t damage your pretty weave!”

She looked over it properly then, admiring the work and design. She noted that such a pattern would surely take great skill and time to achieve, and with the length of the work as well! She was beyond relieved not to have damaged it.

“My-?”

Tikki turned briskly to analyse Marinette, her mark.

She noted the long black hair, shimmering in the candlelight of the darkened room. Her bright blue eyes, wide as saucers, reflecting Tikki’s own. Her soft cheeks and general face, the face of a teenage child.

“You are a pretty young thing aren’t you,” She noted, before floating anxiously. This plan suddenly didn’t seem to work at all. How could she ask a child to be her host, to run around with her all over the country in search of a murderous witch?

Marinette didn’t notice Tikki’s turmoil, her thoughts were preoccupied with the compliment no one had ever paid her, “Um, thank-thank you.”

Tikki blinked up at her, as though snapping to reality, then smiled brightly at her poor little marked, “Oh, you are very welcome my dear mark!”

Marinette giggled, holding her hand out in offering for Tikki to rest, “My name isn’t Mark. It’s Marinette!”

Tikki smiled, resting in Marinette’s palm, “What a lovely name! ‘Marinette’, it rolls off the tongue!” She giggled, and stood in Marinette's hand, the very one where she had made her mark over fifteen years before, “I am Tikki, your fairy, and I have a lot to ask of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien began his day like any other. He rose like the sun, bright and warm.

He raced out of his room, throwing on a robe as he went. He smiled brightly at the top of the circular staircase, before sitting atop the railing, and sliding down. Round and round and round, down four flights, before he jumped off a the end.

Giggling giddily, he raced to the kitchen, entering with a somersault, then a perfect point landing.

Nathalie looked up, before sighing and shaking her head at his antics. The small crack of a smile didn’t escape his notice, however.

Today was a good day. In fact, every day after his birthday had been a good day. To think! He could spite such a prophecy as his own death! Yes, his thwarting fate only became more exciting to him as days passed.

His father had left at midday on his birthday, weeping for the thought of losing his son. Adrien didn’t blame him, who could have stayed to watch their child destroyed.

Three days had passed now since that fateful day, the Summer Solstice, his birthday, the anniversary of his mother’s death. Quite the day, but it had since passed with its threat and now was Nathalie's promised day of travel.

Adrien was beyond excited to see the absolute happiness that would flood his father’s face, the pure joy he rarely showed but Adrien had grown accustomed to finding and bringing out. His mother's favourite smile -Adrien was sure- and in her memory, Adrien would bring it to the world whenever he was given the opportunity.

Yes, Nathalie had finally promised their leave of the tower. Adrien would see the castle, the home of his ancestors, and only family. His destined residence that he'd been kept from for far too long in his opinion. Two days too long at **least**.

It was beyond an exciting prospect to the young teen.

“Is everything packed, ready to go?”

“Everything was packed yesterday,” Adrien replied, sitting down a the dining table in preparation for breakfast.

Nathalie nodded, indifferent in her disposition as always, “And it is in the carriage?”

“I put everything in the carriage last night, Nathalie!”

Nathalie nodded again, “I know, I am just making certain that you won’t leave anything behind.”

Adrien nodded in understanding, mirroring Nathalie’s disposition in the act, “I know, but I’m ready.”

She looked at him a long moment, doubt bright in her eyes, but then she sighed the thought away and presented Adrien with breakfast.

The morning passed quickly after that. Adrien couldn’t really settle because of his excitement, but soon enough they were riding in the carriage, G. was driving.

Adrien was giddily bouncing in his seat next to Nathalie.

For the first time in his entire life, he would be leaving the tower. Today was a day of change!

Adrien felt beyond ready for it.

 

So, they made their way to the capital. It was less than a days travel so they would arrive nearing dusk. Adrien was sure it would have taken half that time on horseback, yet Nathalie refused to test that theory. Putting the young prince in such unnecessary danger and risk bandits attacking his person, alone, was not on her schedule.

Adrien eventually settled into the space. Travelling had become quite dreary, and Adrien was quite tempted to begin complaining were it not for the inkling thought of his father’s face at his arrival kept Adrien from giving Nathalie even the tiniest reason to turn around.

After two hours of travel, he was asleep on Nathalie’s shoulder. After three, he was passed out in her lap as she stroked his hair gently. He missed the rest of the trip, no matter how many times G. hit a bump or dip in the road, he never did so much as stir.

No, it wasn’t until he could hear voices outside, and singing, and the general hustle and bustle of the city did he awake. The capital, they had finally arrived.

He rose groggily, Nathalie’s nails retreating from his scalp. Outside was covered in colours he’d never seen. Long bright pieces of fabric were strung up, he could see people dancing and celebrating.

“What are they celebrating?” Adrien asked, his excitement sparking, even though his head was not quite awake yet.

“The day of Wishes,” Nathalie replied with a soft smile, “I had hoped the celebrations wouldn’t end before we arrived.”

He looked to Nathalie quickly, “Can I join the festivities?”

She smiled, but shook her head softly, “After you’ve seen your father. He will bring you if he wishes.”

Adrien woke properly then, his green eyes bugging out as he turned quickly, trying to spot his father in the crowd, only for his gaze to drift to the huge castle rising above the rooftops. He had to poke his head outside a little to see it entirely.

The castle was huge and beautiful. It was made of pretty white stone, and had long pieces of fabric dangling from every window, blowing elegantly in the wind. There were whites, pinks, purples, and even yellows. A specific fabric caught his eye, on the top right tower window was a piece of fabric inked black in its beauty.

“Are the… the fabrics, are they meant to mean something?”

“Yes,” Nathalie replied, “They represent a magical tradition from long ago, when Fairies roamed the kingdom every Solstice night. Twice a year they would go and mark babies and young children during the night, which would then bring them back to our world fifteen years, and three days, later to bless their marked.”

Adrien nodded, curious as to where this is going.

“Some of the fairies stayed with the children for long periods of time after the activation of their marks, giving the children gifts and wishes repeatedly. This would leave the child’s body coated in magic. From these children were born babies who could do magic, in endless amounts. These people were called witches.

“Some were good, some were terrible. Some were powerful, some were… not. After many years being attacked by witches, your great-great-great-great grandfather made a wish to his fairy, that every fairy would not bless anyone with their marks who was not a witch, or a witch’s child.”

“I see,” Adrien whispered, “But, wouldn’t that make witches even more powerful?”

“Well, no, not if the fairies didn’t stay with the children very long, which we don’t think they did anymore, because the fairy king could see the danger of such an exchange. So, every witch of the kingdom was banished from the kingdom to the Witches’ Wood, where the fairies could still bless whomever they wished, but it would still be for only a short time.”

“Oh, ok,” He replied, “So, the fabrics?”

“Are used to represent the magic bestowed by the fae,” She replied, “The fabric from the castle is hung from every window where the fae associated with that coloured fabric. The colour of their marks.”

Adrien nodded, thinking a moment, “Who did the black fairy bless?”

“The black fairy?” Nathalie asked.

“I… I saw a black fabric out of a tower window.”

She sighed, as though this were something Adrien should have always known, “No king has been marked by the black fairy, for they have never done such a crime to deserve it.”

“Crime?” He asked.

“Yes,” She replied, “So, the black fabric is used to represent an unactivated mark, as no royal would have the gall to anger the fae like that.”

"Even though an unactivated mark is grey?" He pointed to his mark to show the evidence.

"Yes," She replied, "I'm not sure why now, it's just always been this way, Adrien."

Adrien nodded, his cheeks burning, “So that’s either a royal who died before the mark was activated-”

“Unprecedented,” Nathalie replied, confirming his second theory.

“Or that fabric is… is for me?”

She paused, before sighing with a nod, "I have suspected you were marked by a wayward fairy that fateful night. Your father only came around to the idea on your birthday. He put that blanket up himself, or at least he said he would."

"Father always keeps his word," Adrien noted.

“Besides," Nathalie replied, "It was the best answer we could come up with... You were born on the Summer Solstice, and the next morning you had a mark on your neck… It is how fairies work. We assumed also that she would come back to destroy you before your mark activated, as your fae would never let you die before blessing you.

"A strange occurrence still, a child being marked so far from the Witches' Wood, and a prince no less! Of course, this would be what would destroy our understanding with the fairies," She sighed in annoyance, as though this were simply politics, "And if France knew it would start a Nationwide panic. A betrayal of a royal wish. It would mean that the fairies can go back on their blessings. They can break away whenever **they** wish.”

“Right, and we can’t have that.” Adrien replied.

“No,” Nathalie agreed, “Not at all.”

“Hm,” _But if they didn’t go back on their promise… then that would mean…_ “Is there any chance I am a witch?”

“What?” Nathalie snapped, turning to Adrien in horror.

Adrien’s face paled and he looked down quickly, “Well, I mean… that… that would mean they never went back on their promise?”

Nathalie stared for a long time, before looking away, “That is ridiculous, Adrien. You’ve no blood for it.”

“Blood?”

She nodded, “Your father never had a fairy at all, least of all on who stayed. No one in your family has had a fairy since your great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“Right… and my mother?”

“Came from a respectable noble family. They were the lords of a lovely little town North of the Witches’ Wood, there is no chance she had a fairy.”

“Of course,” He replied, “I was just curious.”

Nathalie sighed, “I admire your curiosity Adrien, but you cannot under **any** circumstances ask such questions when we arrive at the castle. Those servants are such gossips, the rumours would spread everywhere. Oh! I can hear the tellers already! ‘France’s own lost prince, a witch! The late Queen, a roaming witch of the Witches’ Wood!’”

Adrien swallowed heavily, blinking away the sudden dagger of sadness that had rendered him speechless, “I won’t say anything, I’m sorry Nathalie.”

She nodded, “It is only for your own good, Adrien. It is disastrous enough for this betrayal of trust on the Fairies part.”

The next twenty minutes were made in silence as Adrien reviewed his new findings, looking repeatedly to the black fabric that flowed out of… what must’ve been his room. Surely this meant that the kingdom knew about his marking? Nathalie didn't seem to think so...

Eventually, G. pulled up behind the fountain outside the castle entrance. Adrien had recovered from his new knowledge and had returned to his excited state, barreling out of the carriage and up the steps, and through the huge wooden door, eager to see his father.

He was met with a pair of wide eyes watching him curiously from around a corner, before hiding away quickly. He smiled brightly, walking forward and looking around the corner to find a pair of servants in pretty frilly aprons, and brown maid dresses, each had a brightly coloured ribbon in her hair, pink and purple.

Pink squeaked, alarmed, before clinging to purple tightly. Purple took a sharp breath in her surprise but didn’t so much as flinch otherwise. She reminded Adrien of Nathalie, perhaps a little less composed.

“Hello there,” Adrien said, a friendly smile affixed to his face, “Do either of you know where I can find my father, the king?”

“Your father?!” The pink-ribboned, blond haired, girl shrieked, her voice pitched and worried.

“Why, yes,” He replied softly, stepping into their line of sight properly. He was only an inch taller than the purple haired girl, but over a foot taller than the pink-ribboned girl, “I am Prince Adrien, and I’d like to greet my father.”

The pink-ribboned girl looked worried and frantic suddenly, trying to decide whether she should tell Adrien where the king was.

“He’s in his study,” the purple-ribboned girl replied calmly, though her voice was very quiet, “It is down the hall, up the staircase, and around the bend.”

“Thank you!” Adrien exclaimed, hugging her tightly, before racing away to follow the instructions.

He raced by other servants who yelled after him to stop running in the halls, but Adrien didn’t care. He was on a mission. He was going to see his father with that sudden smile that took over his angular features in a blast of pure joy. He was going to attend that celebration outside. He was going to spend the rest of his youth here and make his home this wonderful palace with his father, and all of these lovely new people! He was going to meet so many people!

He couldn’t believe how his luck had turned!

He raced upstairs, and around a bend, and faced the first door he saw. A dark mahogany door stood there, strong and imposing in its splendor, it reminded him of his father in a pleasing way. This was his father’s home after all, of course even the doors resembled him.

Adrien didn’t so much as hesitate to push it open just enough for him to squeeze through. Closing it carefully as not to disturb his father and ruin the surprise. It took him nearly fifteen seconds to close the door without so much as a click.

Proud of himself, he turned quickly to surprise his father only for his eyes to grow wide in horror at the sight that befell him.

His father lay dead at his desk, papers were strewn about detailing many curses and spells that Adrien had never seen before. An arrow struck out from his father’s head, with a note soaked in blood, that Adrien could read even from this distance.

_A present for the dear Little Prince._

Adrien took an alarmed step back, crashing loudly into the door before his knees buckled, and his world began to spin. He pulled his knees out from under him and up to his chest, his eyes affixed in horror to his father, his dead father.

She had taken them both now. She had orphaned him. What kind of gift was this?! What kind of monster-?!

He began to cry then, dry sobs raking his throat as white-hot tears streamed down his face, but he still couldn’t look away.

His father, his wonderful father, who had been searching for an answer to his dying breath! His father, the king, was dead.

The king was dead.

He looked away then, pressing his face to knees, wails of protest ripping through him, but he could only feel his heart tearing open at this loss. His greatest loss.

He didn’t notice the black ball of energy that flowed from his mark. He didn’t see it growing and glowing as the sunset neared. He didn’t take note of the tiny creature that appeared from it, who was met with a child of no older than fifteen, hair as blond as sunlight, weeping into his knees on the ground.

He turned suddenly to regard the room, his anger spiking at the abundant lack of murderess. No, he was instead met with the cold stare of a dead man, surprisingly in likeness to the boy. Plagg gasped softly at the arrow protruding from his head. He flew closer to read the message, and in his presence, the letters bounced around and slammed together to make a new message.

_Sorry I missed you, Plagg. It is quite a shame. Hope you like the boy I left for you._

He turned sharply to the boy to see him throw his head back and trying to swallow his grief, showing the black mark Plagg had left… on the Witch’s palm…

He hissed angrily and flew to the boy.

Adrien opened his tear-filled eyes, after several sharp breaths trying to fill his lungs, to be met by a hovering black blur. He screeched in alarm, scrambling back farther into the door and wiped at his eyes quickly, before regarding the blur properly. It was a small black creature, no larger than his palm, with a strange cat-like appearance.

Rather suddenly after Adrien had noted the cat-like appearance of the creature the candle on his father’s desk ran through, plunging the room into darkness. The creature would have been invisible were it not for his green eyes that glowed with unforeseen power.

The creature spoke softly, but his voice was gravelled and sent an involuntary fear into Adrien’s very soul, “Hello, young Earthly. Do not be alarmed, I am nothing more than a fairy.”

“A black fairy,” Adrien noted, his voice cracking with suppressed emotion, “Oh god, you’re **the** black fairy!”

The creature was silent for a moment, before moving to the desk and lighting the other candle to give Adrien a bit of light, before he returned again obscuring Adrien's view of his father, “I am… Well, your people tend to call me the Grand Noir, but my true name is Plagg.”

Adrien swallowed with a nod.

“And I did not mark you by my own volition. An evil witch I marked for slaughter seems to have relocated her mark… to you.”

Adrien blinked in surprise, “So, you haven’t gone against my… ancestor’s wish.”

“No,” Plagg replied, “No, but I wouldn’t have anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“I am not a fairy capable of blessing any child… I am the cursed one.”

Adrien’s hand shot to his mark, before fearful tears began to stream down his face as he let out a broken chuckle, “I guess I am too…”

Plagg’s expression softened, as he shook his head, “I am not going to curse, or hurt, you. You’re an innocent caught in the crossfire, so I’ll just remove this and we’ll be on our way.”

Adrien blinked in surprise, before nodding and tossing his head to the side for Plagg to get a better look.

The small ball of chaos and curse floated forward, he reached out and tried to pry the mark away. Adrien gasped at the sting of pain, and nearly shrieked as Plagg hurtled across the room and into a bookshelf sending papers flying, some into the pool of the king’s blood.

“Well,” Plagg said softly, “That didn’t work.”

“Why not?” Adrien asked, standing on shaky legs to go to Plagg.

Plagg floated up with a wince, before addressing the question, “My curses aren’t mean to be removed, after all they are only supposed to be placed on terrible criminals. I never thought it would backfire against me too, but I guess so… The curse needs to be fulfilled.”

“How do we do that?”

A dark expression crossed Plagg’s features, “Amora Winstead must die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if my characterization is different than you expected, I'm pretty bad at that so I usually write original work, but I needed this idea like I need air, so here you go! :)
> 
> Also, I'm sure you noticed that I really like the trope "this character is really at home because they grab an over-layer of some kind and toss it on before moving through the rest of their house with ease and a routine"  
> It just... hits my heart in a good way :)


	3. Chapter 2

“Adrien,” Nathalie whispered softly, trying to coax the young prince from his blanket cocoon, which he had resigned himself for the past week.

With his father’s passing, Adrien hadn’t done any of the things he’d set out to do. He hadn’t gone to the Day of Wishes celebrations, or met nearly any of the staff. He’d learned the names of the pink and purple ribboned girls, Rose and Juleka respectively, out of necessity because they had been assigned to him in his time of turmoil.

“Adrien, please.”

His response was to pull the cloth tighter around himself. He had not moved from the security of the black fabric that had been hanging outside his window since he’d met his fairy and his father had… Well, as far as Adrien could tell his father left him this small comfort, and hung this very fabric outside his window as show of support. As far as he had known, Adrien was dead, but the man hung it up anyway, maybe to honour his son.

It was also warm and shielded Adrien from the cruel world that had stolen so much from him, so as long as he was in this blanket he didn’t need to face a castle void of his father.

Nathalie sighed in annoyance, while Rose and Juleka nervously touched up his clothing, checking vigorously for moths eating at the fabric, as they listened to their superior try to coax the young prince from his warm grief-prison. They turned their gaze to the pair every now and then, reminded of their own mothers as Nathalie shook Adrien’s shoulder.

“Adrien, you need to get up,” Nathalie stated firmly, her tone was cold in the girls minds, but Adrien felt the softness of it like a punch to his soul.

“Just let me rest,” Adrien whined quietly.

Nathalie held an exasperated expression as she shoved her hand down the back of the blanket, pressing her cold fingers to the young prince’s back. He shrieked, and flung himself away onto the ground, abandoning his blanket in the motion.

Nathalie cracked a small grin while Rose squeaked in alarm, and Juleka snorted. He glared harshly at them, his green eyes rimmed in red, and his once lovely features had grown cold and angered. Rose shivered under his gaze, and Juleka took her hand in solidarity.

Nathalie’s grin remained unaffected under her prince’s glare, “I am sorry, my prince,” she was not, “but you have visitors.”

He tore the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders again, “Why should I care?”

“Your Aunt and Cousin have arrived.”

He blinked in surprise, before frowning “My what?”

Nathalie’s grin fell into a sad sort of smile, “Your family, Adrien.”

 

A tall man, not seven years older than Adrien, stood in the entrance hall of the castle. Large pillars supported the ceiling, and subsequently the whole castle. They were build of strong but cold marble, which fit quite well to the general demeanor of the royal family. 

Felix stood in the centre of the room. His mother had sent a maid off with news of their arrival, and now they waited for the young prince to meet them. His mother now had moved on from patting the pillars suspiciously to the long and thick green fabric that was strung up to press against the walls. 

“Oh, would you lighten up, Felix?” His mother asked, her tone and gaze sharp as ever, “This is our home!”

“This was your home,” Felix replied coldly, “My home was sold for a horse and carriage.”

“Under the circumstances,” She started, returning her attention to the curtains, “it was quite a good price.”

“A useless horse and cart,” Felix snapped, “Which made no difference to the travel than if we had  _ walked _ straight to the capital!”

“Pish posh,” She waved him off, returning to her curtains.

Felix tossed his gaze up to the chandelier imploringly, as though wishing it to fall. They had visited under such horrible circumstances and his stomach’s knots were convinced someone was going to accuse them of treason and plotting to kill the king. Why else would the previous Princess of France come to the Capital after avoiding it for two and a half decades?

Well, there was a reasonable answer to that of course. Which is that… his mother… was barking  **mad** . Or perhaps she knew fortunes, but Felix’s money was on the first. 

He had trusted her intuition in his youth, as had his father, and though it never led them astray it was also… odd. She never had a fairy, and yet she somehow always knew when it was best to harvest, when a storm was coming, when a foul was being born. Always. 

She knew that the little prince, who was a very late birth, would be born the very day he would be. She knew when Felix’s father had been through into a ditch and broke his leg, and she especially knew exactly when Felix tried to avoid her. It was both the most incredible, and most frustrating, thing about his mother. Though, he would not know its strangeness fully until he had lived in the city for a good while. For now, he just hated it.

He especially hated that his mother had been right about when her brother had died, and she had been right to come to the capital, selling their farm. He still did not agree with the price, especially since he had gotten them lost on the way to the Capital, turning a three day trip into a week long journey. 

His anxiety spiked, however, with the remembrance of how suited he was to the throne. For a farmer’s son, he knew far too much about running a country. 

If anyone asked, he had no reasonable answer to that beyond, ‘my mother knew that I would be put on the throne because someone would die, so she’s been preparing me since i was seven. Why? Oh, because she heard the late queen had been murdered and automatically assumed the murderer would be back. And the worst part is that she was  _ right _ .’ 

She would have had the indigo fairy, if they had left the forest at his mother’s birth. That fairy blessed people with foresight and intuition. 

Felix closed his eyes a long moment as he tried to swallow the sudden bile that rested at the back of his throat as he thought about the suspicions people would make against him. He wondered how long it would take for him to be executed for treason! And he was have to face his cousin, and the boy would think that everyone in his family had betrayed him, when his aunt was only a mad-woman who was somehow right, all the time! That poor kid.

“Father?” 

Felix’s gaze snapped down at the noise. His expression morphed into one of confusion as he looked to a small form, wrapped in a black fabric, with wild blond hair poking out from beneath his cloak of darkness. Green eyes, red-rimmed with grief, stared into Felix’s own stormy grey. They only widened as the boy took in Felix’s tall, near lanky, form and his -generally surprisingly- poised form. 

The boy’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he abandoned his blanket, racing forward and slamming into Felix’s form. The older boy coughed at the force, and stood stiffened in surprise as the younger hugged him tighter around the waist, his face pressed into Felix’s chest.

“Father,” He sobbed, “I thought- I saw!”

Felix looked up frantically, panicked, who was this boy and by the will of the Fae,  _ why _ did he think Felix, a twenty two year old virgin, his father? Felix’s gaze met an older maid who was stark white.

“Help?” Felix asked, his voice sharp though it cracked in his confusion. That snapped the maid out of her trance, and she raced forward, as the boy pulled away, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“You don’t sound… you’re not?” He whispered, his voice crackling as his eyes reviewed Felix form, “But you… just…?”

“I am  _ so sorry _ ,” The maid stated, her voice pitched and embarrassed as she swiftly wrapped the boy with the black fabric once more, pulling him away, “He’s still distraught, and you… you’re a spitting image of your uncle. My deepest apologies.”

“Uncle?” The boy repeated, tears welling in his eyes again as he looked to the maid, “What do you mean  _ uncle _ ?”

“Master Felix,” The old maid said, ignoring the child in favour of lowering her gaze respectfully,, “I hope you can forgive your cousin for his  _ rudeness _ .”

Felix blinked in surprise, before regarding the boy properly. The boy, no Prince, seemed to as well before his bottom lip began to wobble and let out a sob dryly, his tears refusing to leave him. Felix felt a deep pity and sadness, this poor child.

Sophie, Felix’s mother, snapped her gaze to them at the sound and walked over curiously, it seemed as though she was not paying attention to the whole ordeal at all. Now though, she stepped past her son, and in front of her nephew. Her expression was softer than Felix had ever seen.

“You poor child,” She whispered sagely, “You’ve lost so much.”

The young prince’s tears finally slipped, and he surged forward again to encompass the old woman tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder as he sobbed. Her arms wrapped around the boy, and though he was taller than her she only held him tighter, like he were nothing more than a distressed child. Her distressed child.

Felix missed when his mother would hug him like that, though his back did not miss her nails.

“I just,” Adrien whispered through his trembling grief, “He looks…  _ exactly _ . Exactly like him!”

Georgiana laughed softly, “Really? I’d never noticed.”

“And I- I!” Adrien cried, “I thought he was really-!”

She stroked her nephew’s hair softly, “I know. And it hurts a lot seeing your family now, doesn’t it?”

“Mhm,” Adrien whined, nodding into his aunt’s shoulder.

She simply continued stroking his hair, turning her head to her son with an amused glint in her eye, “Now Felix, you best apologise.”

“Apologise?!” He exclaimed in disbelief, “It’s not  _ my  _ fault!”

“Can’t you see you’ve upset your cousin greatly?” She replied, her smile was sharp but her tone was still humourous.

Felix spluttered at her, as his cousin peaked up from his despair. The tiny, broken, giggle that left the young prince broke Felix’s resolve. He looked to his mother, who was still looking to him in amusement, he glared comically at her, before turning back to his cousin who was watching intently.

“My deepest apologies,” Felix said, bowing deeply, “For my appearance.”

Adrien shrieked into a fit of sudden giggles at his cousin’s ridiculousness, burying his face away again as he trembled with laughter.

Georgiana smiled proudly at her son, who rolled his eyes at her. 

“Are you alright now, little prince?” Felix asked. 

That stopped the giggles immediately. Felix’s gaze snapped to the old maid in panic, but she only winced in response.

Adrien pulled back from his aunt, his own demeanor panic stricken as he looked between his aunt and cousin. As the old maid was about to console him, Adrien sprinted up the stairs, tripping on the rug in his haste, at least twice, as he ran. 

“I really wish you didn’t say that,” the maid said in annoyance, “I  _ just  _ convinced him that there weren’t any murderers in the castle.”

“I-what?” Felix cried in alarm, “Why would he think that?”

She only sighed, folding the young prince’s blanket mildly, before making her way up the stairs. She kicked the rug back into place as she went.

 

So, Felix’s relationship with Adrien started off as quite the rocky one. Eventually Nathalie, his mother had forced him to learn her name as she was practically Adrien’s own mother, convinced Adrien that Felix was not a murderer and explained to Felix why his words had been so harmful on the young prince’s sense of safety. 

The young prince, did not however, attend Felix’s crowning ceremony. He was going to be king while Adrien was too young for the role. On the young prince’s eighteenth birthday he would relinquish the throne and let the boy rule. That did not mean Adrien was going to be hostile to Felix, but he had crossed a line accidentally and it didn’t seem like he could go back.

The young prince banned Felix from the upper West Wing as his act of vengeance. 

Of course, this left Felix the entire lower west wing, and he was born a farmer’s boy. His room was bigger than his house used to be, and the West Wing itself could rival the whole property they used to own.

Sophie had received the whole East Wing, in contrast. To be fair, she had been very kind to Adrien upon meeting the boy, and though Felix didn’t need any more room… he would’ve liked to be allowed throughout the castle. Especially as he was the king.

So, Felix, King of France, was only permitted in the East Wing (because it was his mother’s) and on the two bottom floors of the West Wing. Of course, he couldn’t break this confinement either, not without someone catching him he was sure. It was no longer just his mother he had to avoid when he was up to trouble. Now there were servants everywhere, and they all answered to Nathalie, and Nathalie was for all intents and purposes, Adrien’s mother. 

This of course meant Felix had no chance to apologise to the young Prince. He had not known that the witch had called him that in her letter… which had been sticking out of the late King’s head.

That is, until one day when working Felix found himself without an important document. The bill of rights for all the nobility of the kingdom. He needed it to convict a corrupt politician who was abusing his power, illegally too. 

There was no other choice. He would simply have to get it himself. To think, the King of France, Felix Culpa of all people, asking a servant to retrieve a document for him? Because he feared the opinion of a child? Goodness no, he’d rather chance being caught.

So, he did, chance being caught that is. 

All he had to do was sneak past all the servants, and get to the fourth floor, to the King’s Study. No big deal! Easy. Simple. 

_ A suicide mission. _

 

So, that was how the present King of France, found himself hiding from his own goddamn servants behind an armour stand. He was close though, he just had to make another round up those stairs then he was home free! Or rather, right at the study. He would retrieve that blasted Bill, and he would be victorious! Better still, Adrien would  _ never know _ .

By the Fae, to think he was stuck to this ridiculous escapade, (he rolled over to a tapestry as Nathalie passed) because he said a perfectly reasonable title to a boy who was, in fact, smaller than him  **and** a prince! (Cue a careful crab walk past two maids who seemed to be… flirting?) Why, it was demeaning. He was the son of a princess and a farmer, dammit! He had more self-respect than this! (... careful, silent sprinting up the stairs. God, was his heart going to explode with how fast it was hammering? He just had another door, and then he could get the  _ stupid _ bill and leave his cousin the hell alone).

Finally, he got to the door. No servants in sight. Slowly,  _ slowly _ , ever so gently he slid into the room, closing the door with a soft click.

The room was silent for a moment, before Felix turned in triumph to see his young cousin, asleep under the desk on the far side of the room. Felix couldn’t help the confusion that bubbled up in his chest, and before he knew it, words were on his tongue.

“Prince?” His voice said, though his brain was still catching up.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Adrien shot straight up into a sitting position, his head banging painfully on the underside of the desk. He yelped and pulled back, and out from under it. 

Felix stared at his cousin, panic rising in his very soul. Adrien met his cousin’s gaze with confused green eyes, before they narrowed sharply, angrily.

“What are you doing in here?” 

Felix felt the panic bubble over into utter despair, of  _ course _ he’d been caught by the prince himself. Because of his own damn words too. Maybe he should just go to the Witches’ Wood and demand that they seal his mouth  _ shut _ .

“I needed a bill, I can see it from here even,” He looked over to the bookshelf, and sure enough he could see it, “I’ll just take it and be on my way.”

Adrien’s gaze didn’t shift, but his expression grew less intense, “Fine, but stay off the rug.”

Felix relaxed greatly, and carefully  _ carefully _ , crossed the room, avoiding the rug. 

Adrien’s expression morphed into one of surprise. He hadn’t nearly expected his cousin, the literal King of France, to actually do as he asked. The cold and angry expression Felix held had led Adrien to believe he was beyond annoyed at Adrien’s very presence in the room… Yet, he carefully avoided the rug. 

Adrien frowned in confusion, then decided to try fishing for a motive to Felix’s angered expression, “Did you expect not to get caught?”

“Well,” Felix started sharply, turning to his cousin red-faced… embarrassed or furious, Adrien couldn’t decide, “I was doing quite well, I’ll have you know. No one was any the wiser, because the whole castle seems to answer to  _ you _ . So, I had to avoid them all.”

“What?” Adrien asked, his face suddenly shining with curiosity, “How did you get past them all?”

“I am an expert,” Felix replied sharply, “Do you understand just how hard it was to run off, when your mother is your teacher, and the damn Oracle of Delphi?”

Adrien frowned in confusion, “The what?”

“The Oracle of Delphi,” Felix replied, sitting down at the edge of the rug with a thump, “She can basically see the future. Or at least, that’s my opinion. Really, it’s getting ridiculous! She predicted… well, this.  **When I was a child** . So, you can imagine how  _ difficult _ it was to sneak out of lessons in my youth.”

Adrien snorted, shaking his head, “Well if your mother is the Oracle of Delphi, Nathalie is an all knowing being of ancient times,” He shook his head, “I don’t know how, or why, but she knows  _ everything _ .  _ At all times _ .”

Felix laughed, “All knowing mother-figures are the  **worst** .”

“Cheers to that,” Adrien giggled.

Felix cracked a smile, before it disappeared again to be replaced by another look of pure fury and constipation, “Hey listen… I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was saying, or what it meant to you, when I… said that.”

“Said what?” Adrien asked, his tone cloaked in confusion, especially as he tried to hide his unease at Felix’s expression, “That your mother’s the Oracle of Delphi?”

“No,” Felix replied with a hollow chuckle, “No, when I… called you, ahem, ‘Little Prince.’”

“Oh,” Adrien blinked a moment, “Well, thanks for reminding me why I was mad at you, I’d forgotten.”

Felix’s gaze snapped to his cousin in disbelief. The older of the two had been sitting on his guilt for over a month! Yet, here Adrien was, having forgotten the whole ordeal!

“Don’t get me wrong,” Adrien replied, “I knew I was mad at you. I just… couldn’t remember why,” He paused for a moment, before looking back to the desk, “But I don’t want to be mad at you anymore. It’s not worth it.”

“I… but you were-”

“I know I was upset,” Adrien replied, his voice sharp but the tone… lacked any punch, “I’m still upset about everything that happened in this room… but that doesn’t mean I should take it out on you… when it didn’t matter enough for me to remember it.”

Felix watched him a long moment, before a sad smile cracked through his cold expression, “Very wise, young prince.”

Adrien flinched at the nickname, before taking a short breath, “Please, for my own sanity, call my Adrien.”

“Then that makes me Felix.”

Adrien nodded, smiling rather brightly, “I’m glad we worked this out.”

“As am I.”

“So, are you ever going to get that-”

“Bloody hell!” Felix screeched, leaping from his place on the ground and racing to the bookshelf. Snagging a long scroll and racing back outside.

Adrien was left laughing loudly at his cousin’s escapades.

“I’m glad you forgive him,” Plagg said, floating out of the oil canister he was hiding in.

“Why shouldn’t I,” Adrien said with a soft smile to his magical companion, “He’s probably the closest thing I’ve got to family now.”

“Wrong,” Plagg replied, lighting and extinguishing the candle atop the desk mildly, “He is your family.”

Adrien smiled, looking back to the door, “I guess so.”

“I know so.”

“Old coot,” Adrien teased with a childish giggle, poking Plagg’s stomach.

Plagg gasped dramatically, dropping out of the air, “I’ve been hit!”

Adrien burst into a fit of laughter, throwing himself back with the force of it.

Plagg smiled, peaking over the desk to watch his boy. The pity settled into Plagg’s form, as he watched the boy. Such a precious piece of the Earthly’s civilisation, and Amora had had every expectation of Plagg destroying Adrien in her place, almost two months before. 

That was why she had killed the king when she did. It was a taunt. That Plagg was too slow to help protect his Earthly reflection. The king couldn’t save the king, so why’d he expect to save all of society from her?

Well, she didn’t know Plagg. She didn’t know that he didn’t actually share much resemblance to King Gabriel. He shared more with the orphaned prince, destined to be King.

Adrien let out a sudden snort and left himself in another debilitating round of laughter.

Plagg smiled and whispered to the room where a Father’s spirit seemed to almost linger, “I promise I’ll teach him everything he needs to know,” He looked to the chair where the late King once sat, “Who better for the job than the King of the Fae?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's been a while I know... but I just needed to get this out. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it, cause this is probably my favourite chapter


	4. Chapter 3

Some ask how the Black Fairy is any different to the others. To them, he is evil and corrupt, to be feared above all else. Of course, this question is posed by humans, who have little to no knowledge of Fae beyond their bi-annual blessings. They do not know how Plagg was born.

It began with a young, frivolous, love. A secret love, between servant and prince. A whispered love, hidden in the silence of the night. 

And eventually, after many years of this steady love, it fell through. When a prince became a king.

The servant, a young and sad fairy dulled in colour due to her mourning a lost love. She could no longer look to anything without weeping for her loss. As darkness coated the night, she would weep, as little fairies giggled secretly together she wept, as her dearest love wed another, she could only sob.

As she bore a child, she screamed.

 

Her parents, worried and confused, asked her to find the child’s father. Perhaps they could beg for them to wed. 

She knew it was too late, though, so with her heart having been broken by years of mourning, and a tiny kitten-shaped fairy in her arms, she made her way to the castle. 

She went to the courtyard of the palace, where she first met her prince. There, she was met with guards, but eventually, the King himself showed up. Upon seeing him, she knew she would not last through the night. Not when the love of her life looked to her like she was dead to him.

“He is yours,” She said simply, placing the baby fairy onto the ground. His purple fur, and magenta eyes shimmering in the light of the stars as he gurgled. 

Gasps resounded through the guard-force, and King Nooroo stood, stunned into silence. Slowly, he stepped forward, picking up the child to examine him. When he looked up, his lost love returned to him, but before he could voice the feeling, his secret lover began to glow in a familiar way.

“No!” Nooroo screamed, “No, Anthema! Stay!”

“I cannot,” She replied weakly, as her very being began to unravel, “You are wed, so I am scorned. All I can give you now, my love, is my child.”

“Please,” He whispered desperately.

“I am sorry, my king.”

With that, she was gone, only a flash of light and a child left in her wake.

Her parents mourned greatly, their daughter and her soiled virtue alike. Nooroo mourned silently, unable to look to her child without grief gripping his soul.

Maybe if Anthema’s parents could move past their grieving, maybe if Nooroo had put aside his sadness, maybe if the Queen had taken in Plagg as her own he would not have grown as he did. You see, fairies thrive on love, as humans do. The difference is that if a fairy is raised scorned and abandoned they grow wrong. They grow corrupt and damaging. The last fairy to grow in such a way had been slain by the king of the time, but Nooroo couldn’t bring himself to slay Anthema’s child, but he also couldn’t bring himself to love the boy. 

It became clear Plagg was not loved as he should be when his half-sister was born. After he saw Nooroo doting on Pollen in her crib, and her wasp-like mother slammed the door in his face, the absence of love began to show on Plagg.

His magenta eyes were the first to change, growing green in his jealousy. Then his violet fur grew black in hatred. His teeth grew sharp with the anger. Then his magic, which once could manipulate darkness and shadows, grew sinister and harmful. 

If Plagg continued down this path, he would have grown feral. 

 

Thank goodness a young fae, a clever little fairy made it into the scholar program from the outer region of Red Lake. 

Thank the heavens she was so diligent, and stubborn, as to study until the witching hour. 

We can only be grateful to some higher power that threaded those fates together that night. That one little red fairy would catch a dark figure tearing through a curtain. 

She chirped in alarm, and rushed forward, magic surging to mend it, “Stop!” She exclaimed, tackling the figure, “Stop, you’ll get in trouble!”

He blinked in surprise, bright green eyes wide in surprise at this fae’s bravery, to touch him, “What do you care?”

She narrowed her shimmering blue eyes at him, her face scrunching cutely, “You could just say, ‘thanks’.”

“Oh yes of course,” He growled, “Thanks for tackling me and ruining my work, really appreciate it.”

She smiled smugly, not catching his sarcasm, “You’re welcome. Glad you appreciate it, as I did you a great service just now.”

He glared, shoving her off of him, “You really didn’t. Besides, I’m not going to get in trouble. They don’t have the courage.”

“Courage for what?” She asked, “To face off with you, Hotshot?” Her smile was smug.

“Yes,” Plagg replied quite serious.

“Well,” She began, standing up and getting into his face, “I do. So, you shouldn’t tear apart the curtains, they’re so lovely.”

He took a step back in surprise (he would deny he was ever frightened of this sleep-deprived fairy who didn’t seem to have her wits about her, she was tiny! He was simply surprised she was talking back to him, that was all.), “They’re awful.”

“No,” She countered, “They’re pretty, and you shouldn’t be tearing them apart. It’s mean.”

He scoffed, looking away. She yawned and rubbed at her eyes trying to stay awake.

When her eyes opened again, she was met with a concerned shimmering green gaze meeting her tired one, “Maybe you should go to bed?”

“I should,” She agreed, “Only if you don’t tear apart these lovely curtains. Please.”

“Fine,” He conceded, “Just go get some sleep, Red.”

She smiled, “Will do, Sparkle Eyes,” She winked and turned on her heel, cheeks burning with regret as she rushed around the corner and away.

Plagg stood, shocked blinking his only response. Slowly, he turned to the curtains, a giddy smile staining his usually gruff features. He stood there for a moment before his wits returned and he scowled at the curtain but made no move to damage it. Instead, he headed back to his room, or rather his tower. 

The next morning he would panic at seeing the bushel of fur at the back of his neck that once resembled a mane having slicked back for no obvious reason, but at this moment he could only let the warmth seep from his chest and throughout his body.

 

That’s how Plagg met Tikki, the first fairy to be brave enough to show the scorned kitty any sort of affection.


End file.
